The daughter of the Terran president, Penelope Aaron resented the restrictions imposed upon her, but that was no reason to take it out on the man assigned to protect her. She regrets how she got Agent Brock Mann booted from the security force. But now that she’s an interplanetary ambassador about to embark on her first diplomatic mission, she still doesn’t want him tagging along. Especially since he seems to be stronger, faster, more muscled, and sexier than she remembers. And pretending to be her husband? This mission couldn’t get more impossible!

Ten years ago Penelope Isabella Aaron had been a pain in Brock Mann’s you-know-what. Much has changed in a decade: “PIA” as he code-named her, has grown up and is about to attend her first Alliance of Planets summit conference, and Brock was transformed into a cyborg after a near-fatal attack. Now a secret agent with Cyber Operations, a covert paramilitary organization, Brock gets called in, not when the going gets tough, but when the going gets impossible. So when he’s unexpectedly assigned to escort Penelope to the summit meeting, he balks at babysitting a prissy ambassador. But after a terrorist bombing, a crash landing on a hostile planet, and a growing attraction to his protectee, Operation: PIA may become his most impossible assignment yet.

“What was so
urgent it couldn’t wait until I got back from Darius 4?” Brock flung himself
into the wide sensa-chair, which conformed to the angles and lines of his body
to provide optimal support and comfort. He would have preferred an android
pleasure worker fit her realistic feminine form around him rather than a piece
of furniture—as he’d been about to experience when the Cyber Operations
director’s summons had come through. “You’re the one who insisted I take
respite time.”

“Drink?” Carter
punched a button on his console, a cabinet slid open, and he removed a
decanter. After pouring two shots of bronze liqueur, he shoved one across the
desk.

“Whenever you
break out the Cerinian brandy, you’re either trying to butter me up or
soften the blow.” He eyed the man who’d been his friend since they’d served
together in the Terran Central Protection Office thirteen years ago. Carter’s
blank expression betrayed nothing, but the brandy sang like a yellow songbird.

The director
knocked back his shot then thumped his chest with his fist. Cerinian brandy
went down smooth until the afterburn lit your throat on fire. Or it did to one
who was unaltered. Brock swallowed his and felt only slight warmth.

“I have an
assignment for you,” Carter said, his voice hoarse from the liqueur. “The
Association of Planets Summit is on Malodonus next week. There’s been a threat
against…the Terran ambassador.” He hesitated like he expected Brock to
short-circuit a computer chip.

After five years
without a day off, Brock had been ordered to take R & R or be reassigned to
desk duty. His irritation with the edict had been relieved somewhat when he’d
arrived at the Darius 4 pleasure resort and discovered the android sex workers
were almost lifelike.

First Carter told
him to go then he recalled him. Brock wouldn’t blow any gaskets, but he was
irked. Quit jerking me around. “What government official hasn’t received
a threat? It’s part of the job. What’s so special about this case?” He shifted
in the sensa-chair so its fingers could massage his lower spine.

“According to
intel, Lamis-Odg is involved.”

Lamis-Odg had
contributed nothing significant or positive toward the advancement of society
in thousands of years yet opposed the AOP’s goal to draw the peoples of the
galaxy into an alliance. Historically, the backwater planet had been more
bluster than bite but, in recent years, had resorted to terrorism to intimidate
its adversaries.

Brock flexed his
right hand. “How certain is the threat?”

“Ten years have
passed. Penelope is different now,” Carter said.

Brock doubted
that. “Does she know about me?”

“That you’re a
cyborg? Of course not. She hasn’t been told anything about the program or even
that you’re the one who’s been assigned to her.”

“Yeah, spring it
on her. That will go over well.” He could envision the tantrum, and, after she
calmed down, the scheme she would devise to circumvent the decision. The last
time he’d seen her, she’d been emerging from his quarters half-dressed, a
triumphant smile tilting her lips. Shortly thereafter, two fellow agents had
come to arrest him.

President Aaron
had exonerated him, the transcripts from the investigation had been sealed, and
he’d been offered reassignment. Instead, he’d taken a position with an
anti-terrorist investigative organization. His unit got attacked; his fellow
operatives had died. Carter, who’d been working with Cy-Ops all along, had
swooped in and saved his ass.

“I’m not saying
I’ll do it, but, hypothetically, if I had a computer meltdown and agreed, what
would be my cover story? I couldn’t tag along as her bodyguard because that would
unsettle the Xenians.”

Different,
my ass. At the Interplanetary Shuttle Port, Brock leaned against a pillar
outside the arrival gate of Pia’s incoming flight and erased from his face all
indication of how steamed he was. Pia had lived up to her former code name. She
hadn’t changed a bit. He’d have been really pissed if he’d gotten all the way
to Terra and then been informed his protectee had gone AWOL. Fortunately, he
hadn’t yet boarded his shuttle when Cy-Ops had received word through a secure
channel Pia was headed for the ISP. All he had to do was round her up.

All I have to do. He snorted. Nothing involving
Pia was ever easy.

The
computerized voice announced the landing, but Brock remained where he was and
scrutinized the crowd for potential threats. After the craft taxied to the dock
and locked to the terminal bridge, passengers began to disembark.

A carryall
slung over her shoulder, a naked Pia sashayed into the terminal. She wasn’t
technically nude, but Brock’s cyber-enhanced vision could see right through her
travel uniform. Only a cascade of blue-black hair streaming to her waist
impeded a full view. As she moved, her hair swung, giving him a peep show of
generous breasts tipped by rosy nipples. Nothing obscured the tantalizing mound
of her sex, the curls trimmed to a neat vee.

Brock yanked
his gaze to her face. Thick lashes framed violet eyes over high cheekbones and
a cute little chin that masked her stubbornness. The gonna-be-pretty-someday
teenager had transformed into a stunning, breathtakingly beautiful woman with a
flawless, creamy complexion.

Blood
rushed south, and Brock immediately activated his nanocytes to cool the heat.
She had no enhanced vision, and his uniform wasn’t transparent, but his
erection would be obvious if he didn’t control it.

She was
his current protectee, a former accuser, a spoiled, entitled, vindictive
hellion who’d derailed his CPO career, all facts his body continued to ignore.
This was Carter’s fault. If the director hadn’t interrupted him before he could
avail himself of the services of a Darius 4 pleasure droid, he wouldn’t be
reacting this way. If his former friend and current superior officer hadn’t
forced this assignment on him, he wouldn’t be here at all.

“Ambassador,”
he growled, mad at her, angry with Carter, and furious with himself.

She licked
her lips. “W-what are you doing here?”

He took
her arm and led her out of the traffic flow. “Is that a question to ask
your…husband?” If she was his wife, his real wife, he’d make damn sure she
never wore another travel uniform. It didn’t matter that only machine scanners,
droids, and cyborgs could see through it.

She jerked
and snapped back her head. “You’re my bodyguard? No, absolutely not.” She
wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “Despite what my mother believes, I don’t
need a babysitter, and certainly not you. You may return to whatever other
duties you have,” she said like she was dismissing an android.

“I don’t
take orders from you,” he said. “I issue them. You’ll do what I tell you to
do.” He leaned in. The scent of her hair swirled around him. “My orders to
ensure your safety supersede your assignment. If that means tossing you over my
shoulder and putting you on the first flight to Terra, so be it.”

About the Author

Multi-published, Cara Bristol is the author of more than 20 erotic romance titles. She writes science fiction romance, contemporary romance, paranormal, and spanking romance. No matter what the subgenre, one thing remains constant: her emphasis on character-driven seriously hot erotic stories with sizzling chemistry between the hero and heroine. Cara has lived many places in the United States, but currently lives in Missouri with her husband. She has two grown stepkids. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading and traveling.

BEGIN AGAIN tells the story of Paulina Ludzecky who, since her husband died three years ago, runs a contracting business with her twin, Antonia. She’s ready to dip her toes in romance, when she meets Adam Armstrong, the architect on the new music hall her company is building.

For Adam, opposites attract and he’s drawn to this no-nonsense, down-to-earth girl next door. She’s equally interested in him though he’s too different from her to settle down with. But alpha male Adam has other plans for Paulina and isn’t about to let her go, even when Paulina has trouble with committing to him. Sex, yes! Love, no! This second chance at love story will tug on your heartstrings.

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

From the way Adam looked at her
when they were seated on the bench, Paulina knew he was going to kiss her, so
she tried to leave the backyard. But once he’d stopped her, there was no
escaping—because she didn’t want to be anywhere else. His mouth touched hers
lightly, brushed over her lips, and she savored his taste—coffee and a hint of
peppermint, which was soon eclipsed by the essence of him filling her head.
After a few seconds, he slid his arms around her and drew her close. She went
easily, willingly and fell deeper into the kiss. His tongue explored her mouth,
and she allowed it, welcomed it, returned it. His body aligned perfectly with
hers, and he pressed his hips in close. He was hard, and she was going damp,
and she wanted to weep with the sensation. She missed the scent of a man, his
flesh and bones, his unyielding frame. She inhaled him, crooked her head so he
could get better access.

She had no idea how long the
embrace went on. All she knew was that at some point, they were both stepping
back, breathing hard, staring at each other.

“Well!” he said, raking his hand
through his hair. She took pleasure in his loss of composure and consequently
wasn’t embarrassed by hers. “That was unexpected.”

“Really? You started it.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

He arched a brow.

“Besides, you
wanted it.”

“I’m not denying that.”

“What I meant was, the contact
was intense. Right away, without warning. I’m shocked by my reaction.”

Her hand touched her lips as she
savored his taste, still on her. “I enjoyed it. But if you didn’t, that’s
okay.” Once more, she started away. She didn’t have time for games, and if he
was rebuffing her again, she didn’t want to stick around and get her feelings
hurt.

“Hold on!” This time he caught
her hand, pulled her around and didn’t let go. “Why do you keep running away?”

She took in a deep breath. “I
guess because I can’t read you. You flirted, asked in an email if we should
meet, then said never mind.”

“I did.”

No hedging. No denial. She liked
that. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t sure we
should…do anything like this.”

“Adam, it was only a kiss.”

His expression said it was much
more than that.

“But I liked it,” she continued.
“Still, don’t worry. I’m not asking you for anything.”

Jamming his hands in his pockets,
he rocked back on his heels. “What if I want something?”

“Damn it, Adam, just say what you
mean. What you want. I don’t have time for or interest in being coy.”

“Let’s go out.”

She watched him.

“You’ve dated since your husband
died, right?”

“No, but recently I made a
decision that I wanted to get into the…the swing of things. I’m seeing someone
tonight for supper and a movie.”

His brows knit together. “Is it
serious?”

“I met him on first base.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed at her expression.
“At a softball game. I got a hit, and he…never mind all that.”

“So, you’re a free agent, so to
speak.”

And would probably stay one. But she’d like to
see this man. “I am, but I’m not interested in anything serious. Just some
fun.” Some hot sex. She didn’t say that aloud, thank God. Though she
knew one thing: she was attracted to him big-time.

“Have dinner with me this weekend.”

“Sofia’s taking the boys on Sunday for the
day. I could do an early dinner.”

“All right. I’ll pick you up at five.” He
added, “Wear something nice, but no ball gowns.”

Did he think he had to tell her
what to wear? What was all that about? Maybe it was nothing. She just wasn’t
used to this dating scene. Had never really been in it. He was probably being
thoughtful.

“Hey, Paulie, you back here?” Frank’s voice
came from the end of the yard.

She said, “I have to go.”

He grasped her arm again. “Would you wear your
hair down Sunday?”

“Maybe. Let’s wait and see.”

Primary Colors (Ludzecky Sisters Series, #2)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
In PRIMARY COLORS, Nia Ludzecky Pettrone is stuck in her grief and can’t find a way out of her sorrow over the untimely death of her beloved husband. Then she meets famous modern artist Rafe Castle, and she’s intrigued by his gentle demeanor and lack of arrogance. When he shows interest in giving her son the confidence and skills to nurture his budding art talent, she starts falling for him. Still, she finds it hard to leave the past behind and embrace love after loss.

Rafe is definitely interested in a relationship with Nia. If he has his way, she’ll come to love him and he vows to be patient. But when she rejects him in the most elemental of ways, can he control the comparison to past hurts she resurrects for him?

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

“And
the winner of the first grade prize for Excellence in Art is Salvador
Pettrone.”

Simultaneously, Ben and Tommy jumped
up, fists in the air. “Yes!”

Sal
sat demurely in his little first grade chair and blushed.

From the gathering of parents and
guests off to the side, Nia watched her son, wishing he was outgoing like his
cousins but loving him to pieces anyway.

“Sal.”
The deep male voice of the man at the microphone was filled with excitement.
“Come up and get your prize.”

She’d
been so happy all summer, now that her relationship with Adam was blossoming. They’d
met when their company, Pettrone and Ludzecky Builders, had gotten the bid on a
music hall that he’d designed. Surprisingly, Nia had taken a liking to the man
despite the fact that he lived in a different world from the family. It seemed
that every time she saw him and Paulina together, they were closer. And he’d
treated Sal just like Paulina’s boys—kind and gentle, always calm.

Making
his way to the front, Sal stood before Rafe Castle, looking up and now smiling
broadly. Nia had heard a lot about the man who’d come to Benjamin Franklin
Elementary School as an artist in residence for two weeks. She’d voted at the
PTA meeting for him to be chosen because his artwork seemed so alive. Sal
talked about him often…

Mom,
he said I got talent.

Mom,
he used my picture as an example.

Mom,
he loves my work.

She’d been so grateful to the artist
for helping bring her son out of his shell, for making him feel good about
himself, even before she’d gotten an email from him: Dear Mrs. Pettrone, Your son Sal is one of the most talented artists of
a young age I’ve ever seen. After the Art Fair, can we talk?

Responding in the affirmative, Nia
was thrilled, and anxious to hear what he had to say.

The grades were separated in the
large gym, and Sal watched as the other winners were awarded their prizes. And
he cheered heartily for them. He’s such a
nice kid, she thought for the hundredth time. Peter would have been so
proud. Though her husband had been a jock, he’d have celebrated his son’s
success in art, where Sal had inexplicably shown both interest and talent. It
had been one of the many things she’d loved about Peter. Sometimes, at events
like this, the hole in her heart became a gaping chasm and she struggled
against the emotion.

When the formal part of the presentation
was over, Rafe said, “Now mingle, everybody. See what stellar work your
classmates have done.” Displays of student art lined the walls. “And parents,
please browse, too. Congratulations to them all.”

The groups disbanded, and three
little dark-haired, dark-eyed boys ran to where the Ludzecky family had
gathered.

Sal
threw himself into Nia’s arms. “Mommy, I won!”

“I know, sweetheart.
Congratulations.”

Sneaking around his mother, Ben went
up to Adam and gave him a high-five. “We didn’t win. Mom told us last night we
have other talents.”

“But we’re glad Sal won,” Tommy put
in. “I like his drawings.”

Adam ruffled Sal’s hair. “We’re
happy for you, kid.”

Nia
glanced up to see Rafe Castle approaching them. Before he greeted any of them,
he knelt down so he was eye-level with Sal. How
thoughtful. “You did good, Salvador. Just like your namesake.”

“What’s a namesake?” Ben asked.

Sal announced proudly, “Who you’re
named after.”

“Our Uncle Salvador?”

A male chuckle from the artist.
“Nope. I told him I bet he has roots going back to Salvador Dali, the famous
twentieth-century artist.”

“Like you, Rafe.” Nia noticed Sal
used his first name. “You said maybe you got roots to…who was it?”

Nia cleared her throat. Though she’d
seen pictures of him online since the school chose him for this position, his
physical presence was daunting. Those navy eyes focused on her, increasing
their effect. “Yes, I’m Sal’s mother.”

“You’re son’s very talented.”

“So you said.”

“Rafe?”

Castle’s brows rose. “Adam? Hello.”

“You know my teacher, Adam?” Sal
asked.

“We’ve met. And I saw his show at
the Mitchell Gallery. I bought The Dragon
Within. His work is amazing. So individualistic.”

“What does that mean?” Ben wanted to
know.

“That everybody gets something
different out of it,” Adam explained.

Her sister held out her hand. “I’m
Paulina Pettrone.”

When he got a look at Paulina, Rafe
startled. “Wow, two of you? How do the men in the world stand it when you’re
together?”

“Excuse me?” This from Nia.

“You must bowl them over.”

Paulina rolled her eyes. “It was a
compliment, Nia. Say thanks.” She focused on the boys. “Let’s go see
everybody’s art before we have to leave. Nia, take your time in getting back to
work. No rush.”

“Could Sal go with you?” Rafe asked.
“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Pettrone in private.”

Nia stepped back.

“It’s all positive stuff.”

The four of them left, and Nia
folded her arms across her chest, watching Rafe Castle. His dark hair was long
and curly, and he carried himself in the confident, masculine way that men who looked
like him seemed to have. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Salvador.”

“I appreciated your letter.”

“I meant every word, and more. Did
you notice how his paintings and drawings evolved the last two weeks?”

“Yes, I did. Some got more
realistic. Some more abstract. I liked the latter best.”

His
eyes glistened like sapphires, as if she’d said the right thing. “I have a
proposal for you. I’d like to continue working with Sal. Free of charge.”

“Why on earth would you do that?
Adam said you were hot.”

He winked at her. “I am.”

“Oh, I meant your reputation. But
back to Sal.”

“He’s a prodigy. And that kind of
talent needs to be cultivated.”

Feeling guilt take root inside her,
she sighed. “I’ve thought about getting him art lessons, but we’re so busy…”

“I’ll come to your house. And yes,
I’d expect an adult to supervise us, so you’d have to arrange that.”

“We live with my mother and sister.
It wouldn’t be too hard to get coverage.” She raised her chin. “But I insist I
pay.”

“Then I retract the offer.”

“What?”

“I won’t take your money.”

“Mr. Castle, I might be a widow, but
we have enough funds to live on.”

As
he walked away, Nia stared at his long male stride. And okay, his butt, encased
in soft denim, and his broad shoulders in a chamois shirt. But that wasn’t the
matter at hand. Now, once again, she’d have to make the right choice for her
child alone. She wished Peter was here to help with that and a million other
things. Which was enough to worry about. But more pressing was the issue that
Nia had not gotten beyond her grief enough to move on like Paulina had and that
was as big an issue as the solo responsibility she now had.

Risky Business (Ludzecky Sisters Series #3)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
Magdalena Ludzecky is a career woman extraordinaire. A child prodigy, she’s worked her way into a successful private equity firm by the time she was twenty-four. Seven years later, she’s still the gentle, good-hearted sister who hasn’t forgotten her roots, but in business she’s a force to be reckoned with. She’s a woman who has everything, including Logan Price, her coworker and her best friend outside of the family. They support each other through tragedy and loss, vacation together and make million dollar deals together.

But suddenly, they find attraction growing between them. And no, they both think, this can’t happen! They like the status quo. An office romance is unthinkable. It doesn’t seem to be up to them, though, as fate intervenes and brings them together as lovers. Yet fate can be cruel, too, and pulls them apart when Logan’s circumstances change dramatically. Does this friends to lovers romance have a chance or are Logan and Magdalena going to lose each other forever?

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

“I think we have what we need for our due
diligence, Mr. Holland.” Magdalena smiled graciously at the owner of The
Natural Life stores. “I hope you’re as excited as we are about the potential
investment in your company by Price and Associates.” Magdalena had joined the
private-equity after graduate school.

The owner held her gaze. “Mostly, it
feels like I’m handing my first born off to someone else to raise.”

She gave him a sympathetic look.
“Most of the companies we do business with have that initial reaction. Maybe
you could look at it as sending your child off to school, where others can
invest their time, energy and money into him.”

Carter Holland nodded. “So, where do
we go from here?”

“Price and Associates analyze all the
documents and visit more stores.”

Logan
sat forward. “Ms. Ludzecky and I are both operational analysts.” The Power Team, they’d been called by
the media. “We’ll analyze your strengths and weaknesses to make sure we want to
invest, but we don’t get to this phase without being fairly certain we do.”

“And you’ll complete a management
assessment, correct?”

“Yes.” This was Logan’s baby. “We’ll
evaluate your staff and see if there’s any overlap or duplication of effort
within the stores or in upper management.” There most likely would be layoffs,
which Holland had to know.

Once again, Magdalena admired her
colleague and friend for being able to handle the personnel task with emotional
aplomb. She was glad she didn’t have to do that part of the assessment, though
she’d be consulted.

After answering a few more
questions, Logan stood. “We’ll be in touch about our decision. Before that, if
we need anything else from you. One promise I can make is that we’ll be fair
and save as many jobs as we can.”

“Which is why I want to work with
your firm.” He stood and so did Magdalena.

She offered her hand first. “Thank
you for your time. I’m sure we can take that baby of yours to greater heights
than you could alone.”

“I hope so.”

“You won’t be sorry, Mr. Holland,”
Logan told him.

Together, they left the office and
soon stood on the streets of New York’s Financial District. Magdalena didn’t
live too far from here. Early January sported one of its sunny winter days, so
she and Logan stopped to talk. “He’s nervous,” she said, glancing back at the
building.

“All owners are when they want to
grow their business and go with private-equity investment. But Price wouldn’t
be pursuing the company if we didn’t think it was good for all of us.”

She squeezed his arm. “Of course we
wouldn’t. And I know you’re not crazy about the layoffs.”

Pointedly, he took a bead on her.
“Then why don’t you do this part?”

“Because you got your undergrad in
human resources. Mine’s in finance.” Checking her watch, she saw it was 1:00
p.m. “Want to get something to eat with me and Ana?”

“No thanks. I have a lunch date.”

Having
worked with him for seven years, Magdalena rolled her eyes. “I know what that
means. Shall I bring a sandwich back to the office for you?”

“I’ll have you know, Teresa and I
are eating this time. She has to be
at the theater early to go over some dances with the choreographer.” Logan
dated the current star of All of Me,
the hottest ticket on Broadway. Magdalena liked the woman, though from what he
said about her, she could be mercurial in her moods. Logan called it artistic
temperament.

“You’re good at finding time for other business,” she teased.

“Stop.” Though he liked a variety of
women in his life, Logan was good-hearted and never duped any of them into
thinking the relationship would last forever. He also didn’t give that heart of
his to anyone. Often, Magdalena wondered why.

They both crossed to the curb.
“Why’s Ana in town?”

Her older sister was the Dean of
Admissions at Mount Mary’s in Brooklyn and was often in the city for her job.
She still lived in the other borough, in the same house she once shared with
Jared the Jerk.

“A recruiting fair.”

“How is she, Mags? I know you worry
about her.”

“Because she’s bitter and still very
sad, even after more than two years. Why wouldn’t I worry?”

“It’s never what it appears on the
surface, why people break up.”

Because she loved Logan in many
ways, she listened to him. “You’re right. Have a good lunch.”

He hailed a cab and she took out her
phone. As she watched him get into the taxi, which always seemed to come right
away for him, she could see why women flocked to him. Six three, all muscles
with sky blue eyes, he was a stunner. For the hundredth time, she was grateful
she was immune to his charms. She much rather preferred to have him in her life
as a friend she could count on.

And she could. In every way.

oOo

Logan climbed into the cab and waved
good-bye to Magdalena. He was always shocked that cars didn’t crash into each
other when she was on the street. She had to be one of the most beautiful women
he’d ever known. That luscious hair in curls down to her waist. Those tawny
eyes. She was the picture of loveliness.

Who was not for him. There’d be too
much competition for her attention. And he’d never want to lose her as a
friend. Then there was the fact that they were colleagues. It would be
difficult to have romantic feelings for her. Turning his thoughts to Teresa
Allen, he smiled. Now, she was perfect for him, at this point in his life
anyway.

He saw her waiting outside the
theater. She waved to motion the cab over. When he exited, he embraced her. She
went willingly, fully and gave him a big kiss on the mouth. “Hello.”

“Hi, babe.” They walked to the
restaurant two doors down from the theater. Once inside, they sat and she
scanned the menu.

“Hungry?”
he asked.

“Always. Order some red meat so I
can have a slice.”

Because she was a dancer and singer
in addition to an actor, she was scrupulous about her diet. “Already had some
this week?”

“Once, my limit. But I’ll cheat with
a tiny slice.”

They
talked about the play and the changes they were making in the choreography. All
of Me had been a big hit, but the choreographer was noted for his
perfection. “Will you come to see it again?”

“Of course.”

The Way We Were (Ludzecky Sisters Series #4)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
Ana Ludzecky had it all—a sexy husband, a beautiful daughter, her dream house and the best extended family in the world. Then, tragedy strikes them and her life turns upside down. Unable to bear the suffering of her sisters, she makes some bad choices that eventually lead to the dissolution of her marriage.

Dr. Jared Creswell, a professor at Mount Mary College, always believed he and Ana would last forever. He’s never loved anybody like he loved her. But a year after the tragedy, she’s still suffering because of the horrific events her family suffered. Jared weakens and makes the biggest mistake of his life.

When their daughter is stricken with a rare kidney disorder, both Ana and Jared must come together to see her through this difficult time. Will his and Ana’s past love be rekindled or have they put it out forever? You’ll root for these two who’ve been dealt a bad hand in life and are trying to find their second chance at love.

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Two nights later, Jared was in a gloomy mood so he went
to the workout room and dropped down on a bench. He remembered when they’d
built this space, enclosing a section of the huge garage, outfitting it with
weights, a treadmill and eventually an elliptical and stretching bar. Better to
think about that than the fact that Ana had a date tonight. That she’d be with
another man. The thought of her letting someone else kiss her, touch her had
driven him crazy when they divorced, but he’d learned to block it. Since Opal
had brought her into his life again, the demons had returned.

Instead of concentrating on the number of arm curls he
was doing with free weights, he pictured Ana letting him hold her at the hospital when she was so frightened she could
barely tolerate it. He saw her take his hand, insinuate hers in his, like she
used to when he needed support. He remembered how she smiled at him during
their days at home, and once in a while, unconsciously, he thought, how she
touched his shoulder or his back. They were being circumspect, trying not to
let on that something was different, but it was hard when all he wanted to do
was clasp her to him during the night and claim her body with his. Hell. He was
acting like the men in a D.H. Lawrence novel. Arrgh! He resisted the urge to
throw the barbell across the floor. Instead, he transferred it to the other
fist and kept pumping. One, two, three…

“Hi.”

As if he’d conjured her, she stood at the doorway,
wearing the red-sequined outfit again. His gaze narrowed, taking in every
detail. Christ, it clung to her in all the right places—gloving her breasts,
nipping in at the waist. The beige heeled boots she wore with it made her
appear taller, more willowy. More feminine, as if she needed that.

“Hi.” He raked his gaze down her outfit. “Deja vu.”

“I know. I don’t have a lot of dressy things to choose
from.” She flipped back her hair, which she’d let fall down her back, then
gestured to the weights. “Didn’t you do those yesterday? You’re supposed to
take a day off in between.”

What a wifely thing to say.

He set the barbell down and dropped his hands to either
side of him on the bench. “I did. And you’re right about alternating. But I
found I needed physical exercise tonight.” He was sure the expression of distaste
was on his face, but he couldn’t hide it. When she stared right back at him, he
added, “Because of what we decided. Because after that, you’re going out on a
date.”

“We decided to
see how things went between us, Jared. Besides, we didn’t commit to not seeing
other people.”

His jaw tensed. “I thought that was understood.”

“Maybe we should see others. To keep this in
perspective.”

“Hmm.”

She waited. Finally, “What are you thinking?”

He fought against his macho side—and lost. He stood.
“That if we’re going to see others, we should be sure to keep our eyes on the
goal, too.” The silkiness in his voice was evident.

“What do you mean?” But the expression on her face told
him she knew.

He took a step toward her. Her eyes widened. Another
step. Two. Until he was in front of her and she had to look up at him. “We
don’t want you to forget what we’re trying to do here, do we, Ana?” His pitch
dropped and came out throaty. Hoarse. “To see if we can get back together.”

She shook her head, but her breath hitched.

“So, sweetheart. Get ready.”

“F-for what?”

“For not forgetting about us tonight when you’re on a date with another man.”

Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and she
leaned into him. Her scent, French perfume that she wore years ago, filled his
head. He whispered in her ear, “I’m going to kiss you.”

“I can see that.”

“Do you want me to?”

“I—I don’t know. We said we wouldn’t rush into anything.”

Lifting his arm, he ran his knuckles down her cheek. She
shivered. Ah, that was nice. “Yeah, but I gotta stay in the game, so to speak.”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “I wouldn’t want to
handicap you.”

“So, I ask again. Can I kiss you, Annie?”

“Yes, but—”

He drew her against him before she put caveats on her
permission. His body remembered hers—the curves and indentations, the
solidness; he melded to her in all the right places. He’d hugged her at the
hospital, held her in his arms there, but this was the first time in over two
years that she came to him as a woman.

She looped her arms around his neck.

Moved in.

Their legs tangled. Her hips pressed into his.

Then she stood on tiptoes. It was all the invitation he
needed. His grasp on her tightened and he lifted her up. He lowered his head
and brushed his lips across hers. Back and forth. Back and forth. She moaned,
gripped his neck now.

“More?” he asked against her mouth.

“More,” she whispered.

He fully aligned their bodies and devoured her. He probed
her lips open and explored her. God he’d forgotten the sweet taste of her. When
she did the same, his head burst with sensation. This was Ana. His Ana, in his arms. Kissing him back.

And it went on…and on…

A shrill sounded from the front of the house, intruding
on the isolated cocoon they occupied. It took them both a few moments to part.
Her eyes sparked with deep, genuine emotion. He knew his did, too. He was hard,
and her nipples peaked under the dress. They were both gloriously aroused.

She took in a deep breath.

The bell sounded again.

He arched a brow. “You’d better get that. It’s your
date.” His tone was amused, and her gaze narrowed on him.

“You did this on purpose.”

“Guilty as charged.” He chucked her under the chin. “Now,
go answer the door.”

Clearly miffed, she turned. When she reached the archway,
he said, “Ana?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget this.”

“As if I could,” she said under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

But he’d heard her. Very loud and very clear.

Handle with Care (Ludzecky Sisters Series #5)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
Of all the Ludzecky sisters, Sofia is the calmest one. She’s had to be. Diagnosed with leukemia at sixteen, the disease has affected her entire life. When bad things have happened to her—her father’s death, her Secret Service sister and brother getting shot, the deaths of her brothers-in-law--Sofia has gone into herself and found the strength to help them out and also take care of herself. The easy going, laid back lifestyle suits her and she likes it. Her chosen profession is as a yoga instructor and owner of Serenity Yoga, which enhances this way of living.

Football Coach Max Walker doesn’t know what to make of this sweet, demure and pretty woman who is hired by his high school to teach yoga to students. But he’s part of the Physical Education department and has to deal with her every day. Soon he comes to learn how special she is, and though he steered clear of romance with another teacher, he’s drawn to her. But she shies away from him—big time. Why? Women usually flock to Max.

Little does he know that his outgoing personality, his rabid bent for competition and his boisterous athletic family upset her. Opposites attract is not true in her case. But Max wants her, and he’s always gotten what he wants.

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Sofia calmed herself with rhythmic breathing and stared
out the window of Eastside High School’s faculty lounge. Snow covered the
ground. Many people hated the weather at this time of year, but not her. She
treasured every season’s dawn and end. When she was sixteen, she hadn’t thought
she’d experience very many of them again.

From behind, she heard, “Sofia?”

Max Walker had returned. She’d come to the school for a
meeting with him and the vice principal and encountered a fight they’d just
broken up in the hall. Since she and Max had to wait for the VP to deal with
the perpetrators, Max escorted her to the teachers’ cafeteria and detoured to
get her tea. The respite from his presence had allowed her to even out her
reaction to him. Now he was back.

Turning, she saw him there, this big jock who was
probably intimidating to most people. She herself was thrown by the impact of
his physicality and his machismo in, well, a feminine way. She nodded to the
cup of steaming water he set down. “Thanks.”

They sat and she fished some herbal tea out of her purse.

“Always carry that?” he asked, extending out his legs as
if his body required special accommodation most people didn’t need.

She, for example, perched on the chair, sat straight up,
spine long, neck relaxed. “I do. I have to be careful of what I eat.”

He tried to stifle the snort. “No Garbage Grub for you,
huh?”

At the mention of the fat-filled, bad-for-your-arteries
popular dish, she shuddered inwardly. “No, none.” And changed the subject.
“I’ve wondered how your staff is reacting to the yoga classes I’m teaching in
the fall. As head of the Physical Education Department, you’d know by now.”

“Mostly positive. The female PE teachers especially. One
guy is definitely not on board.”

“Let me guess, Mr. Cook.”

Dark brows rose. “How’d you know?”

“I was a student here and had him in class. He used to
make snide comments about boys taking Home Economics or whatever they call it
now.”

“Family and Consumer Sciences. I didn’t know you went to
Eastside.”

“I did.” Though a lot of what she remembered was her
illness. For her last two years, she’d struggled with the horror of trying to
do schoolwork and not give up because of the cruel anxiety and physical side
effects of the leukemia treatment. Thank God she’d found yoga after she’d had
to give up dance.

“Not a pleasant experience?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Your face. It’s expressive.”

“Ah. I was sick, but I’d prefer not to talk about that,
Mr. Walker.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. His nice mouth.
“Max. We’re gonna be working together.”

“You’re the football coach here, too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and I hope to keep the job for a while.”

“Aren’t you good?”

He winked. “Darlin’, I’m great.”

She rolled her eyes. “I meant how’s the team doing?”

“We had a losing season last year. A bad one. Most
of the players on our winning teams graduated. It was like starting over. I’m
praying for success this year, but they have to be in the right mindset.”

“There are ways to help that along.”

“Sure, I know. The kids are lifting weights with me all
winter. And we have a football camp in the summer. Practice starts in August.”

“I didn’t mean your skill preparation or muscle
building.”

“What did you mean?”

“Your players should do breathing exercises, centering
meditations, in addition to stretches and isometrics.”

He laughed out loud, and heads turned to look at him.
“That’s namby-pamby for us jocks, don’t you think?”

It was her turn to laugh—at him—though she was quieter
about it. “Seriously? You still use words like that? It’s the twenty-first
century.”

He scowled. “Words like what?”

“Let’s see. Pansy. Sissy. Not to mention the more hurtful
ones that are feminist put-downs or gender-orientation slurs.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry we’re getting off on the wrong
foot, Max. All I was suggesting was that you and your team could be better if
you did yoga poses and breathing exercises. I was hoping some of the guys would
sign up for the fall session.”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

“Obviously not, with you as a role model.”

He sat up straight and his fist clenched on the table.

Leaning in, she put her hand over it and felt the
tension. She was surprised he didn’t snatch it back. “Again, I apologize. We
have a difference of opinion on this. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Yeah, sure, that’d be okay.”

“On one condition.”

Now his gaze narrowed. “What?”

“Come to Serenity Yoga, my studio. Take a few classes.
They don’t have to be from me. But we’ll do it free of charge. If your
experience there doesn’t convince you that you’re not in as good shape as you
think, I’ll be silenced till the end of time.”

As soon as she touched him, Max went off-kilter. He
stared at their hands, her small one covering his big paw. Both strength and
comfort transferred from her to him. He couldn’t explain it. He raised his
head. It was a mistake. She wasn’t exactly pretty, though the long hair,
hanging down her back in a braid, was probably stunning spread across a guy’s
pillow. In her eyes, he saw…what the hell was that? Confidence. Security.
Ah…peace. Which he longed for all of a sudden.

“Max?”

“Sorry. You’re disturbing me.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“No, that’s okay. So, let’s go over this again. You want
me to take some yoga classes at the studio where you work. See if I think it
can help my players, what? Be better at football?”

“Yes, they wouldn’t be the first.”

Cocking his head, he watched her.

“You know who Ray Lewis, Victor Cruz and Vernon Davis
are?”

“Yeah sure. They play for the Baltimore Ravens, the New
York Giants and the San Francisco 49ers.”

Approval in her eyes. Hell, he couldn’t believe he liked
it. Because he didn’t much like her.

“They all take or took yoga.”

“Seriously?” Though, even as he said the word, he
remembered reading something about that.

“LeBron James and Shaquille, too. They’re athletes who
turned to yoga to learn stretching, focus and body awareness.”

Max didn’t know what to say, so he shut his trap.

“The basketball coach from Duke did, too, and they
recently won a NCAA championship. When asked how he stayed so calm, he said it
was because he practiced yoga.”

Feeling at a disadvantage, he did what all guys do when
put on the spot. He went on defense. “You came prepared for this little game,
Ms. Ludzecky. I’m not in shape for the argument.”

“Sofia,” she said, mimicking his earlier reference to
using his first name. “And yes, I came prepared.”

Max watched her. Suddenly, he realized having her in his
department, even for a few classes a week, wasn’t going to be harmless like
he’d thought. And the notion bothered him a lot. He looked down. Shit! His knee
was bobbing again.

Love Story (Ludzecky Sisters Series #6)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
Elizabeita Ludzecky is two different women: one the risk-taking, hip, wild child in the Ludzecky family. Her other side is the Rhodes Scholar and businesswoman who works at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The problem is she doesn’t know which is the real her. But what she does understand is the secret she carries inside her, and how it’s helped her survive a family fraught with tragedy.

Hardened cop Nick Casella decides to leave the NYPD because of his distaste for anti-police sentiment that developed after several high profile shootings were not prosecuted in the courts. But he’s asked to be part of a task force for the NYPD, an undercover unit specializing in unique crimes. He’s sent to the Met, ostensibly as a new employee do to set ups and other odd jobs. The famous museum has been besieged by odd emails, hackers and maybe even a stalker.

Nick works with Elizabeita when they put up a new exhibit and, at first, is not at all charmed by her winsomeness, her upbeat attitude about life or her sexy charisma. She’s a baby anyway, as he has more than a decade on her. But she’s getting the emails, too, and might be a victim, so he has to spend time with her. When she sets her sights on him, his first instinct is to run in the other direction. Soon, that changes dramatically. With secret and lies as the basis of a relationship, especially an older man/younger woman romance, does it have any chance of surviving?

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Elizabeita entered one of the conference rooms at the Metropolitan
Museum of Art and took a seat in the back. Most of the Contemporary Art staff
had already gathered, and she noticed a workman touching up some paint on the
side wall. Its scent was strong but not unpleasant

“How’s everybody today?” Delores Martin, the head curator
in charge of the division, asked. In addition to Dee, three assistant curators,
three collections managers, one research associate and a variety of technicians
completed their department. Sometimes, Elizabeita had to pinch herself to
believe she’d actually gotten an assistant curatorship at this renowned museum
three years ago.

Mumbles of good
or okay or tired abounded. Elizabeita liked the people she worked with,
including the two interns from the School of Art in Manhattan.

After some announcements, Delores zeroed in on her.
“Elizabeita, I’ve got good news for you.”

“Seriously? We’re getting it?” She’d been working on
bringing a touring exhibit of a comparison between Dali and Picasso to the Met.

“Yes, we are. A gallery in Chicago had to drop out
because of a fire. We’ve gotten their slot at the beginning of November.”

“Hallelujah!” Success meant a lot to her.

“We don’t have much time to prepare for this, but I’m
sure it will sell out in days. Publicity is already underway. You can expect
the setup to begin as soon as the Matisse exhibit ends and is broken down.”

“Great. Will I still be going to the conference in
California the week after next?”

“I don’t see why not.” She transferred her gaze to the
person next to Elizabeita. “Ellen, about your project. We didn’t receive a
grant we expected from the city. It’s impossible to finance your exhibit before
the end of the year.”

Also an assistant curator, Ellen Pratt frowned. “But you
said it was on track to be accepted.”

They covered other business, then Dee took off her
glasses and leaned forward. “We’ll end with something we need to discuss—the
emails our department has been getting.”

For a while now, the staff at the Met had been receiving emails
which consisted of a line or two about modern art. The missives had gone from
innocuous statements about its lack of relevance, its nonsensical presentation
to branding the style as pagan, blasphemous and sacrilegious. After studying
the history of art at Oxford, Elizabeita knew about art fanatics.

“There might be cause for concern,” Delores went on.

“Why?” Ellen asked. “We have the best security of any art
museum in the world here. And Director Davidson is top-notch.”

“We do. Physically.” The museum sported the requisite
cameras, guards in every room, motion sensors on each work of art, and vigilant
overnight security. “But we may need assistance in dealing with computer
issues.”

The collections manager offered, “These emails have been
coming periodically for a while now. Aren’t they just from some kook who
doesn’t understand genius or wants attention?”

“At first, we thought so. Then the frequency increased.
And the tenor of the messages has become aggressive. Also, a few employees have
noticed lurkers around the quietest spaces in the museum. When security was
called, they vanished.”

“A lot of people lurk in museums.” This from the research
associate. “We call it browsing.”

Elizabeita
agreed about the lurkers. Her favorite patron of the museum, a little old
Polish man who took the train in from Brooklyn every week, could be considered
one. And he was as harmless as a kitten.

“All I can say is the director wants you to be on the
lookout for anything unusual. And be sure to send your emails to him as soon as
you receive them so his team can analyze the data.”

Elizabeita’s gaze strayed to the man painting in the
corner. He hadn’t gotten much done. Right now, he was on his haunches doing
something she couldn’t s­ee. It was unusual
to have a workman in a room during a staff meeting.

When the group broke up, Elizabeita took out her phone. As
she walked into the hallway, she checked for messages. Three texts had come in,
and she moved to the side to read them. One from a professor she had taken
classes from—and more—who lived in London. One from Ana. Another from a guy
she’d dated once and didn’t plan to see again. She answered them and then
pushed herself off the wall. Right as the workman came out. They collided.

A gallon can went flying. When it hit the wall, the top
came off and beige paint spattered everywhere. ““What the hell?” he muttered
and whirled around. “You ran into me.”

“I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m sorry.”

“Do you have any idea how long that’s going to take me to
clean up?”

She frowned. “Quite a while.”

He glanced back to the wall. “Damn it,” he said under his
breath.

“Listen, I can help you. It was my fault.”

“Damn right it was.” He raked her up and down with a
disgusted gaze. “Never mind. I can’t see you mopping up paint in those heels
and the suit.”

Hmm. Must be he didn’t know who she was. Not a big shot
at the museum, for sure, but she’d started working here after she got her second
degree in art and had interned in galleries in London and Paris. She planned to
climb the art ladder fast. Now, at twenty-six, she was recommending exhibits
and had gotten one approved. She could, if she wanted to, get him in trouble.

Sofia would kill her. Sweetie,
she’d say. Be forgiving of people. You
never know if their cat died, if they were up all night at a second job, or if
they’d lost everything they’d worked for.

So she backed up a few steps. “You’re right. I was only
trying to help.” Stung, she started to walk away.

And heard behind her, “I could probably leave the paint
on the wall, and people would think it was just another piece of that damned modern
art.”

Hmm. He had a sense of humor. Who would have guessed?

About the Author

A NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author, Kathryn Shay has been a lifelong writer and teacher. She has written dozens of self-published original romance titles, print books with the Berkley Publishing Group and Harlequin Enterprises and mainstream women’s fiction with Bold Strokes Books. She has won five RT Book Reviews awards, four Golden Quills, four Holt Medallions, the Bookseller’s Best Award, Foreword Magazine’s Book of the Year and several “Starred Reviews.” Her novels have been serialized in COSMOPOLITAN magazine and featured in USA TODAY, THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and PEOPLE magazine. There are over five million copies of her books in print, along with hundreds of thousands downloaded online. Reviewers have call her work “emotional and heart-wrenching.”